“Maybe she decided she didn’t need as much time as she thought,” Handful suggested.
“Or maybe someone grabbed her on her way home,” I shot back. “Think about it—we’ve been having issues with the fucking Wolves. They could have been watching, waiting for an opportunity.”
Glitch closed his laptop and gave me his full attention. “Okay, let’s say someone did take her. Why would they take her back to her apartment to get her stuff? Kidnappers don’t usually help their victims pack.”
“To make it look like she left voluntarily,” I said, even though the words sounded weak to my own ears.
“Dutch,” Holden said gently, “I think you need to consider the possibility that she left.”
“She wouldn’t.” But even as I said it, doubt was creeping in. The way she’d looked at me when I couldn’t promise to stop fucking other women. The defeated slump of her shoulders when she’d asked for time to think.
“Check the cameras,” I ordered Glitch. “All of them. I want to see exactly what happened at her apartment building.”
Glitch hesitated. “Dutch—”
“Check the fucking cameras!” I roared.
The entire clubhouse went quiet. Every conversation stopped, every head turned in my direction. I was making a scene, acting like a maniac, but I didn’t care. I needed to know what had happened to her.
Glitch nodded slowly. “Okay.” He pulled up the traffic cameras near Indira’s apartment complex, his fingers flying over the keyboard. I stood behind him, my heart hammering in my chest as grainy footage filled the screen.
There. Indira’s silver Honda Civic pulling into the parking lot at 8:23 PM yesterday. The timestamp made my chest tight—she’d gone straight there after our fight. Just like she said she would.
“There,” I pointed at the screen. “Can you get a better angle?”
Glitch switched to the parking lot cameras. The image was clearer here, and I could see Indira getting out of her car. She was alone. No signs of distress, no one forcing her. That was good.
She went into her apartment empty-handed, and for the next half hour, the feed showed a few neighbors coming and going, a delivery truck, normal apartment complex activity. Nothing suspicious.
Then Indira emerged from her apartment carrying a small overnight bag.
That’s when it hit me-she hadn’t taken anything into the apartment with her.
“Keep watching,” I said hoarsely.
She made two more trips from her apartment to her car, loading boxes and a suitcase into it. Her movements were purposeful, determined. This wasn’t someone being coerced.
This was someone leaving.
At 10:47 PM, Indira made her final trip to the car. She stood in the parking lot for a long moment, looking up at her apartment windows. Even on the grainy security footage, I could see the slump of her shoulders, the exhaustion in her posture.
Then she got in her car and drove away.
The camera caught her license plate as she turned onto the main road, heading toward the highway. Heading away from Millfield. Away from me.
“She left,” Glitch said quietly.
I stared at the empty screen, my mind struggling to process what I’d just seen. No kidnapping. No rival MC. Just Indira, packing and walking away from everything we’d built together.
That’s when I realized—the broken glass hadn’t been from some struggle. It was the picture of us from that charity ride last month—her copy of the same framed photo she’d smashed at my place before she left. The shattered vase I’d brought her after our first fight. The red dress crumpled on the floor wasthatdress. I’d known that as soon as I’d seen it. She hadn’t been robbed. She’d destroyed pieces of our past before she walked away.
“I need a drink,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“Dutch,” Holden started, but I held up a hand.
“I need a fucking drink.”
I grabbed the bottle of Jack from behind the bar and headed for my office, slamming the door behind me. I could hear themurmur of voices in the main room—my brothers probably discussing what a fucking idiot their prez was.
